Gathered and Bound
by Dance Elle Dance
Summary: The action of his arm curling around her is a familiar one. Practiced. A product of many times spent together, of much trust shared. BaneTalia, oneshot


_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own Batman._

_**Summary: The action of his arm curling around her is a familiar one. Practiced. A product of many times spent together, of much trust shared. BaneTalia, oneshot**_

_Another BaneTalia! I just can't get enough of this pairing. It is just so interesting to write about them, so I thought I'd write another fic when them at the center of it. This is probably set around pre-TDKR or something like that. Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy!_

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**Gathered and Bound**

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The soft grass under her hands and feet is still something she has to get used to.

Even after all that time outside the pit, Talia still cannot forget the rough feel of the terrain, how it was unforgiving and harsh. A prison in every minute detail. A torture of many things - psychological, physical, social.

Though, she figured if she could forget it, then she would lose her purpose.

The breeze floats around her, lifting her sweaty hair from her neck as she leans back, supported only by the palms of her hands as her feet dangle in a small pond. Her face is clear, calm. Emotionless. She has to appear this way, unable to show even a moment's weakness, even in the privacy of her own thoughts.

The night is quiet. A sweet reprieve from everything that usually happens within the short span of a day. She relishes this quiet atmosphere, knowing that it is fleeting at best.

She inhales the cool, crisp spring air. The scent of the returning of life permeates her lungs, feeling her with a sense of hope. Hope that she just might not need to have. Hope is a paralyzing force. Something that is just as deadly as a bullet.

She leans forward, tugging her knees up to her chest and rests her chin on them as she stares out into the night, her eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness.

She does not hear him as he comes up behind her, but she feels his presence near her, as blatant as if he had stomped through the grass to get to her.

"Hello, Bane," she greets placidly.

He says nothing in response, but comes closer. She does not mind this in the slightest, but she will not let him know this. The set of her hunched shoulders stays the same, even as he takes his place at her side, and the natural feel of it is enough to make her lips curve in something resembling a smile.

"What brings you out here?" she asks, wanting to hear his voice. It had soothed her in the pit, and even now, the sound altered by the mask he wears, she still longs to hear it in some primitive part of her soul.

He does not sit down next to her, does not allow himself the comfort of lowering his body down to the dewy, cool grass. Like a sentry, he stands near her, always supporting her, always protecting her. As simple as breathing.

"You, of course," he says, as if it the most obvious thing in the world. The words are short, clipped, but not without meaning.

"Ah," she hums to him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him place his hands on the lapels of his jacket. The pose is familiar and brings a warmth to her. Something that feels, she believes, like returning to a place of significance after being away from it for so long.

_Homesickness,_ her mind provides the word for her.

Which is silly, because she has never truly had a home. Not one that she felt was hers.

Talia ignores the feeling in her chest, the one that presses down as if a concrete block had been dropped on her. It is not proper to dwell on such things, but she can't help but find herself asking, "Would you sit down?"

Bane chuckles, the sound interesting and soothing, garbled as it is by the mask. He does not move and he does not respond, but the echoing remnants of his laugh remain in her mind, bouncing around like a rabid animal.

"I do not see why you won't," she points out.

He rolls his massive shoulders and then looks down at her. She glares up at him, slight indignation in her eyes.

"As you wish," he says, somewhat airily.

Bane lowers himself down onto the grass near her, and yet the alertness of his posture does not leave him. He sits, large expanse of his back ramrod straight, his fists curled in his lap, not spread out on the grass like Talia's.

"Thank you," she says softly.

Bane shakes his head, that gesture saying more than any worded response would have. It says, _You don't have to say thank you to me. Not ever._

And the two of them sit there, in a comfortable and familiar silence. It is not one that either of them feels the need to break. Talia does not wish to. Some of her most dear memories are of sitting next to him, exactly like this, with him holding her hand. A child being comforted by the one person who felt about her what no one else even bothered to.

She sneaks a glance out of the corner of her eye, yet again. She feels so much like that child from long ago, though she knows things have changed. She has changed. He has changed. Their entire world has changed.

If everything has changed for the better, she is not certain.

Talia lets another sigh escape her as the breeze flutters around her hair. Her thin frame wants to shiver, but she will not allow it. She can feel Bane's eyes on her, watching her, always.

"Cold?" he asks, a slight edge of amusement to his voice. Only Talia herself can recognize it, after years of practice.

"Of course not," she replies. Lying. She knows he recognizes this, this small indignation. This bit of weakness that she will not allow in favor of staying out in the nighttime air. The air that still does not quite taste like freedom, not even after all these years.

Bane gives her a chuckle. A genuine one. Not the sardonic one, not the arrogant one. A laugh meant just for her. And it means the world.

They are as alone as they can get out here, and it shows in what Bane does next.

In a liquid motion, he curls his arm around her shoulders. She goes slack, allows him to pull her against his body. Warmth emanates from his strong, solid form, and she enjoys it more than she should. The action is a familiar one. Practiced. A product of many times spent together, of much trust shared.

Talia allows herself to smile.

"This works," she says.

Bane makes a sound - something like a snort, Talia thinks - underneath the mask. It sounds garbled and unrecognizable, but it endears him to her all the more.

She finds a certain sense of peace slip over her. It is odd, the feeling, and she feels it is only present when he is near. Ironic, all things considered.

But, in a comfortable motion, Talia leans her head against his shoulder, feels the rise and fall of his chest.

Little by little, her eyelids feel heavy, and as much as she tries to fight sleep, she is unable. Bit by bit, her limbs relax even further, and she gives herself up to the unconsciousness that so wants her.

Bane's knowing scoff is the last thing she hears, and it guides her into a dreamless, restful sleep.

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_**End.**_


End file.
